


laugh until we think we'll die, barefoot on a summer night (never could be sweeter than with you)

by scoutshonour



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Co-workers, Fluff, Getting Together, Multi, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 12:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15461430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutshonour/pseuds/scoutshonour
Summary: As Nancy waves them both goodbye, Steve pats his back and promises, "This'll be a good summer, Jonathan."Strangely enough, Jonathan kind of believes him.(or: another summer au where Jonathan falls for his co-workers)





	laugh until we think we'll die, barefoot on a summer night (never could be sweeter than with you)

**Author's Note:**

> this BEAST of a story. has taken over my LIFE. 
> 
> honestly, i've been WAITING to include Byler AAAAAAAND Elmax in a fic bc like???? stoncy + byler + elmax is like god tier fic u know. i mean it's super minor but like??? it's there pls enjoy
> 
> title is from Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros and is such a BOP like. i recommend listening to it when you read this, bc it's so lovely and makes me want to fall in love. 
> 
> also. also. also. stoncy works at a place that sells nitrogen ice cream and there really is no relevance except i had it for the first time and lost my mind. [here is a gif if my explanation doesn't paint the full picture of what it actually is.](http://thesmartlocal.com/images/easyblog_articles/4972/Liquid-Nitrogen-Meringue-Cookies-2.gif)

"Jonathan!"

Will pants as he dashes into Jonathan's room. He tumbles forward without any finesse, nearly tripping by Jonathan's bed.

Jonathan groans at the disruption of his sleep, but brightens when he registers Will’s voice and that he’s barrelled into his bedroom. "Yeah?" He's curled up in bed, underneath a thick comforter despite the smouldering, June heat. Even when it's burning outside, he needs the thickest comforter he owns to sleep. He has just finished his last exam and is trying to nap the Calculus out of his head. 

"You need. To apply. For this job."

He shoves a flyer into Jonathan's face before sliding down to the floor.

Jonathan peels it off his cheek. "What the hell is _liquid nitrogen ice cream?_ "

"Here." He shoves his phone into his face, accidentally hitting his nose.

"You can stop hitting me in the face with things," he mumbles, staring at the phone's screen. "Why am I staring at a picture of Mike's face?"

"Oops," Will says, blushing hard enough that Jonathan doesn't say anything. He swipes through to the next thing on his camera roll. The phone lags—it's a hand me down times two, gone from their mother to Jonathan then to Will—until a video pops up.

Jonathan sobers up at the sight of the thumbnail. He sits upright. "Are you _smoking?_ Will, you're thirteen, why the hell are you doing—"

"Wha—oh my God, Jonathan, shut up and watch the video."

He does what Will’s asked. It’s a video of Dustin with ice cream, and Jonathan’s about to ask what’s so special about Dustin eating ice cream until he gets it. Dustin chews, parting his lips to allow clouds of an airy substance to flow out, eliciting a chorus of laughs and _holy shit’s_. This is vaping for kindergarteners, Jonathan’s certain, and that’s saying something. But Will's eyes are big and excited, so he doesn't make a dry comment. This must be the newest trend. 

"It’s called nitrogen ice cream. There's a position open at the store they sell these at. You have to apply."

"Later."

"Apply."

"La-ter."

"Jonathan!"

"Will."

"I can be super annoying."

Jonathan smiles. "You know it’s impossible for me to find anything you do annoying, right?"

That pries a grin from him. "C'mon," he urges.

"Hey," Jonathan says wearily, peeking over the edge of his bed to glance at his analog clock. One in the afternoon. "Why aren't you in school?"

Will's face whitens as he blurts out, "Dustin's fault!"

* * *

That's why he applies for a position: his overeager, wonderful brother.

He tries the ice cream the next day. It's alright. Nearly coughs on the Cheetos ("why are they so cold _"),_ but he understands the hype and is admittedly a little stunned by the clouds of nitrogen that escape his mouth. It has the aesthetic of smoking without any of the health risks. He can get behind it.

Getting the job is easy. His working experience is pretty solid. The only reason he isn't working right now is because his mom's boyfriend, the freaking Chief of police, moved in with them along with his daughter a few months ago.

They've been dating for a few years. He'd been wary of Hopper at first, with good reason. His father was a piece of garbage and he didn't want another man hurting his mother the same way he'd done.

But after a few months, Jonathan was swayed. Hopper was a good man: he taught Jonathan how to drive, drove Will to his friends' houses without complaints, spent time with the both of them like it wasn’t an obligation but something he genuinely wanted to do. (It was more than their biological father had done. Seriously, fuck genes, this man was more of a father to them anyway.)

More importantly, he made his mother smile. He caused her _much_ more happiness than pain. He was someone she could weather the storm with, who would brighten the end of her day, and who she could just go through shit with. Since their relationship was good for her and Will and Jonathan adored Hopper, they were all pleased when he and his daughter, Jane, moved in. He and Jane got along well, and he liked that their house was less quiet now.

His mother told him he could quit if he wanted to, that they didn’t need the extra income anymore with Hopper's full-time job.  Jonathan, well—he wanted to know what it was like to not have responsibilities. To be a kid. Don't get him wrong, he didn't hold any grudges for the work he'd took on in the wake of his father's absence, of having to be Will's brother _and_ second-parent, but it's not something a seventeen year old needs to be doing.

It turns out it's really fucking boring.

Jonathan doesn’t know what to do with his spare time except for take pictures and spend time with his family, but they have lives. They get busy. And when they have plans and Jonathan has no inspiration for photos, he has nothing to do. So now that summer’s here, a nightmare for someone without friends like him, he’s glad to have the opportunity to do something productive.

He gets the job, like he expected. The owner of the ice cream joint is an older woman who radiates this terrifying yet admirable sort of energy that Jonathan can't figure out. She calls him a few days after the interview, telling him he got the job, adding, "I'm sure you already knew that, judging by how well the interview went." Did it go well? He couldn't tell, having been terrified of her calm, serious demeanour.

But she's nice and gives Jonathan a warm hug when he comes in to learn the process of making the ice cream. It's not complicated. It takes a little long, and Jonathan becomes antsy thinking about how frustrating that'll be for busy nights.

"You'll be working with two other employees," she tells him, "that'll work the same days as you. They're around your age, maybe you know 'em? Maybe you don't, well, you'll see. You'll get along well, and if you don't, well. You're still getting paid."

She gives him a free ice cream and he politely refuses multiple times.

"At least take it home, give it to your mom or something."

She's a devil, because it starts to melt on the ride home, leaving him with no choice but to finish it himself. Smart devil, though, who definitely knows how to layer chocolate syrup.

Absolute sweetheart, too.

* * *

"Are you coming?" Jonathan shouts out, standing in the doorway of his house's front door.

"Five seconds," Will yells back from somewhere deep within the house.

Jane rolls her eyes in a way that is strikingly similar to his mother, it's a wonder they aren't related. But she’s still her daughter regardless. "First day, right?"

"Uh-huh. I'm taking Will with me. You wanna come?"

"Front seat. Mine."

"Obviously."

Jonathan lets Jane pick the music. Even though she plays a song he's heard about fifteen hundred times with the same damn melody as the other twenty songs on the charts right now. Will sings along, then Jane's singing, and Jonathan can't help but smile. Even if his siblings have the worst taste in music ever.

He pulls into the parking lot. There are about a dozen restaurants and dessert places nearby, the ice cream place a small store wedged in between a pho restaurant and a bubble tea chain.

He turns around from the front seat to look at Will. "You guys can have _one cup_ of ice cream each, okay?" It's not a money thing, more or so a _look after your health_ kind of thing.

"If Mike gets to have as many as he wants, then so do we," Will says, promptly unbuckling his seatbelt and jumping out of the car.

"Why would—" He stops, realizing that they've both ran out of his car. Kids. Or teens. Either way, he feels ancient.

The front door door is already unlocked, the lights switched on. One of his co-workers is already here. Jonathan crosses his fingers and hopes they'll be a decent person to work with.

He climbs out of his car, striding towards the store. He pushes past the front doors, a bell chiming above his head, and spots Jane and Will rushing up to the front counter.

"She just had to be here forty-five minutes early," Mike groans, perched on a high stool.

_"It's called punctuality, ass-fuck!"_

Huh. Jonathan never thought he'd hear Nancy Wheeler say something like 'ass-fuck'.

"You look stupid in that uniform," Mike says.

Jonathan's eyes naturally move to find Nancy who pushes through a door from behind the counter. She rolls her eyes at Mike and flips him off. Jonathan gets a better look at her: her hair's tied into a neat ponytail that loops through the back of her hat, a black apron with an 'N2' symbol on front. She doesn't look stupid. Not at all.

"As opposed to you looking stupid all the—Jonathan, hi."  

He gives her the obligatory _hi, our brother's are attached at the hip_ smile. "Hey, Nancy."

He's known Nancy all of his life. Impossible not to, considering how close Mike and Will are. Same schools all their life, too. He knows her, but he doesn't really know her. 

"Dropping Jane and Will off?" She stands behind the counter, shuffling until she's in front of the cash register. He floats towards her without thinking about it.

"No, actually, I, uh, work here, too. First day."

It's weird, because she looks genuinely excited that they'll be working together. They've had a grand total of what, five conversations, all consisting of Jonathan with a foot in his mouth. She has good reason to think that he's a bumbling idiot, and yet, she's brightened with the news.

Again, it's weird. But it's a pleasant kind of weird.

"Good, somebody for me to suffer with. Are you ready to be swarmed with pre-pubescent dip-shits?"

They ignore Mike’s shrill shriek of " _I'm_ _pubescent_ " and share chuckles.

"Ready? I'm ecstatic," he says sarcastically, his smile is anything but.

She smiles back. It's heavenly. "C'mon then. If I have to wear this stupid hat, then so do you."

They have a few trial and errors with the kids. The shop doesn't open for another half hour, but even so, they don't expect any actual customers until later in the evening. Schools aren't all out yet and the shop is fairly new, only a few months in business. Thankfully, their shift ends at around six, so they'll be handing the crowd off to whoever's manning the next shift.

"Apparently there's supposed to be a third employee," Nancy says, stealing another spoonful of Mike's strawberry ice-cream. She ignores his annoyed shout. "Dunno where they are, though."

Mike eventually receives a text from Lucas and he, Jane, and Will leave. The store is still empty. He fully expects for them to delve into awkward small talk or awkward silence without the kids acting as buffers. But the small-talk isn't excruciating like he expects and it's surprisingly easy to talk to Nancy. The foot that usually lodges into his mouth thankfully remains firmly on the floor. 

"...And her exam was such bullshit, she completely skipped over an entire unit. I spent so much time,only for her to ask such insignificant shit ..."

" _If I talked about it once this semester, it could be on the exam,_ " Jonathan mimics in a nasal, high voice, sending Nancy into a fit of laughter. "Yeah, I had her last year. I was tempted to send her a bill for all the stress she caused. I lost hair over her."

"God, she can't even teach—"

The door bursts open so quickly that Nancy shrieks and Jonathan loses his footing on the chair he'd leaned against the counter. He swears, his life flashes before his eyes as he barely manages not to fall over. He only gives his heart the impression of cardiac arrest.

"I am so fucking sorry. I just—yeah, I'll be honest, I woke up late, but it will _not_ happen again. I will not be that asshole."

"That asshole who shows up late on their first day of work, you mean?"

"Yeah, exactly!" 

Jonathan has no idea why Steve Harrington needs a part-time, summer job when his parents make more money in a year than his family will make in a lifetime. But 'lo and behold, here he is, dishevelled hair, jeans, and wearing a shirt inside-out. His mouth extends into a grin and he reaches across the counter to shake Nancy's hand. "Steve Harrington."

"I know."

Jonathan can feel the awkwardness bouncing off in the room as Nancy pointedly ignores his raised hand.

He wants to die of second-hand embarrassment.

Steve tilts his head towards Jonathan, smile never faltering. "Will you at least shake my hand?"

"Your hat and uniform are here." Even as he flings said materials into Steve's face, his hand doesn't move. Jonathan gives his hand a brief shake and a thin-lipped smile that’s not as forced as he expects it to be. He's so damn earnest and he'd feel bad if he left him hanging. 

Nancy gets over it. Steve makes her laugh. He also occasionally bring out a smile from Jonathan who'll watch in the corner, perched up on the counter, ready for a potential customer. 

It's not that he doesn't like Steve. It's just that he's been around Steve's. You know, the typical jock with the ludicrous hair, who plays football, and is frustratingly charming. Who is usually a bully, or in his case, friends with the bullies. Steve's tend to be assholes. Steve's tend to flock towards the pretty girl (not to imply that Nancy's just a pretty girl, though she is pretty, but he hasn't noticed that, what—) instead of whatever the fuck he is.

Jonathan tends to be wary of Steve’s.

But then their shift ends. As Nancy waves them both goodbye, Steve pats his back and promises, "This'll be a good summer, Jonathan."

Strangely enough, Jonathan kind of believes him.

* * *

Their first few days are clumsy.

They're new: sue them. It's a terrible idea to put three, newbies on the same shift. Because they suck.

At first.

Their customers are mostly patient. No one really complains about the extended waiting time or the constant messes or the order mix-up. They're met with kind, understanding smiles. The patience they receive from the customers helps tremendously. You don't feel as shitty for a delay in orders when your customers understand that things can be overwhelming.

The kids are around a lot, Will and Jane's friends who Jonathan's known all their lives, along with a red-haired girl he's never seen before. But he knows her name. He's definitely heard the others tease Jane about her. It's funny to see Jane's cheeks bloom and her push whoever's being a dick off of a chair before Max gets the chance.

"Hey," Steve calls out, "stop being _violent_ in our store."

"This isn't your store," Lucas says, dusting his pants off like Jane didn't _push him to the floor_  five seconds ago _._ "I don't see your name anywhere."

"We can still kick you out," Nancy says casually, no doubt igniting the fear of God into these poor, poor children. "Behave."

The kids half-heartedly mutter out apologies. 

Jonathan watches them, his eyes drifting to below the table where he sees Mike and Will's hands locked together. Huh. Interesting.

His eyes return to Steve who watches Nancy. He looks at her like she hung the moon and Jonathan has the oddest desire to take a picture of him. 

"Pick your jaw up off the floor, Steve," she says slyly. She bumps her shoulder against his with a wry smirk.

Jonathan _had_ to look away then, had to get off the counter and do something with his hands. Because he's so obviously staring, and Steve's smiling this soft, _nice_ smile, and Nancy's grinning cockily, and God, they're so _pretty._

Steve smiles a dopey, _holy-shit-please-never-stop-doing-that_ kind of smile, watching Nancy go as she slides into the back, out of view.

"Watcha staring at, Jonathan?" Steve sounds flustered,unlike before, straightening almost defensively. 

Now Jonathan's flustered, his mouth twitching as he finds _some_ excuse for his blatant, unsubtle staring. "Got some drool there."

"Fuck off—oh, wait, you're serious."

* * *

"Stop staring at me."

Jonathan clears his throat, readjusting his uniform. "I'm not—I’m not staring, I’m just—just. Admiring the craftsmanship."

Nancy rolls her eyes, carefully placing the ice cream into its container. The nitrogen bounces off, the usual chorus of 'ooh's sounding from the customers, their eyes watching with enchantment. Even though Jonathan’s seen it about dozens of times in the two weeks working here and is used to the nitrogen effect, he still likes seeing the wonder brighten in customer’s eyes. It’s wholesome and always pulls a small, half-smile out of him.

"I think that's the most colour I've seen on your otherwise _pale_ face,” she says. She reaches over the counter to give the ice cream to the customer with a bright smile. Her smile doesn’t change when the customers leave to walk towards a table. She turns to face Jonathan, leaning against the counter. “Do you ever step into the sun?"

"I wear a hat," he says. He falters at her snort. "I get sun burns too easily."

"You need Vitamin D. Did you know, if you're lacking in Vitamin D, you can be more prone to illnesses, back pain, depression—"

"Why do you know this?"

She huffs, throwing her hands up. "Because I _read_ for _recreational_ purposes."

He throws her a pointed look.

"Okay, so apparently, _I'm_ lacking Vitamin D. I need to go out more or whatever."

"Oh. Well, I mean, if you—y'know, if you need _—_ " Jonathan's heart decides to be an asshole and thud in his chest, his mouth failing to get any words out.

She tilts her head, a slow, devious grin spreading across her face. She's definitely enjoying his suffering.

"Yes, Jonathan?"

"Cmon, can you just—fill in the _blanks—"_

"Y'know, I know a secret spot by Dredshaw Pier. We can go, soak in the sun, and I can push you in the lake."

"Isn't Dredshaw a hookup—" He stops, Nancy's smile freezing in place. "That sounds nice."

"I didn't mean it like—" She pauses, shaking her head with a laugh. "You're right. It does."

The door bursts open, the two customers shrieking as Steve runs in with a tray of coffee. He looks like a disaster, his hair floppier than usual, a drop of sunscreen on his nose, his shirt inside-out again. "I'm late, I'm late, I'm late—"

Nancy scoffs. "What happened to 'I'm not going to be that asshole' _—_ "

"I'm not. See, 'cause I brought coffee."  He's breathless, stumbling forward as he slides the tray across the counter. The award-winning, Steve Harrington grin pops out, prying a reluctant smile from Nancy who's trying _so_ hard to look pissed.

"So you were running late and decided to buy us coffee, making you even _more_ late."

"It's the thought that counts?"

Nancy takes the cup of coffee, taking a long sip. "You're an idiot, Steve Harrington," she finally says.

Steve looks like he couldn't be happier to be insulted. 

"Black coffee for you," he says, gesturing to the tray before hopping over the counter like a fucking madman.

Jonathan snorts. "Why do you assume I like black coffee?"

"Because, you know, you're you."

"Is he wrong, Jonathan?" Nancy says, arching an eyebrow.

He _hates_ the look of satisfaction on both of their faces when he grunts out, "No."

* * *

Their boss, Rose, greets them twenty minutes before their shift ends. She announces herself with her cane, tapping the floor. All three of them jerk from their positions, Steve jumping off of the counter and tapping away at the cash register, Nancy unplugging the mixer, and Jonathan slapping a hand onto the menu because he  _panics_ _,_ okay.

She smiles, her eyes crinkling. "How's it going, kids?"

"Great," they all say, and it's mostly true. Steve's only spilled about five orders, Nancy's only yelled at the kids three times, and Jonathan hasn't done anything _that_ awkward. Save for accidentally touching Steve's ass, to which he had grinned, asking, _you like my ass?_ Jonathan apologized profusely, flushing, and he and Nancy both laughed at how red he became.

"I was thinking, how would you guys like change shifts? I bump you up to opening the store at two pm, you carry on until the night shift crowd comes in at nine."

They gulp. Glance at each other nervously like, _I dunno, if you do it, I'll do it—_

"Five dollar raise."

Jonathan's the first one to blurt out, "I'm in."

Steve is their ride for the day. Jonathan's piece of shit car broke down last weekend and because his house is a shit-storm, constant chaos with three teens and a Chief of police and his mother, nothing gets done efficiently. Hopper said he'd fix it, but there are about five other things he said he'd fix in the house, so Jonathan's not getting his hopes up. Nancy doesn't drive, so Steve offers to be their chauffeur.

“Did we just make a huge mistake?”

“Probably,” Jonathan says indifferently.

Nancy reaches up from the backseat to flick his ear. “Where’s the optimism?”

“There's your optimism,” Jonathan says, gesturing to Steve. “But I can be optimistic. The optimist in me says, hey more money. The rest of me says _no,_ more people. See, I’m balanced.”

“We’re a good team, aren’t we? We’ll be fine,” Steve says, predictably looking on the bright side as he drives out the parking lot. “Hey, what’re you guys doing after this?”

They end up in the parking lot of McDonald’s. Steve’s not as uptight about the condition of his car as Jonathan expected. He's surprised by Nancy’s appetite, because  _holy shit_ , she could eat a horse and still ask for more fries.

“How’d you guys get the job?” Steve says, loudly slurping the Coke they’re all sharing.

“My brother.”

“My brother.”

Steve blinks, his eyebrows furrowed as he looks back and forth between Jonathan and Nancy repeatedly. “Are you two siblings?”

Nancy coughs, bracing a hand on her chest, the other one yanking the drink out of Steve’s grasp. “No, no, no,” she says.

He scoffs at Nancy's exaggerated response. "Okay, us being siblings isn't that—" Jonathan stops himself. You don't think of your sibling as gorgeous. "Never-mind."

“Good, ‘cause that’d be weird.”

“Why would that be weird?” Jonathan raises an eyebrow, shoving a chicken nugget into his mouth. It's not like Steve's aware of why it'd be super, super fucking weird for him.

“No reason.” He turns around, increasing the air conditioning, but Jonathan’s convinced that it's because he wants to hide his face. That sucks, because he'd love to see Steve, who's typically suave and charming, blushing.

Nancy and Jonathan share a look. It's their patented _Steve_ expression. It’s reserved for him and his oddity, like the time he’d confidently exclaimed _I can parkour,_ followed by the two of them having to take turns rubbing ice on his bruise.

“What about you, then?” Nancy asks, footing the back of the driver’s seat to get Steve’s attention back. “How’d you get the job?”

“You can’t. You can’t be weird about it.” There's not a trace of humour in his voice, his face white as he fidgets with his hands.

Another look is shared, half-smiles as they have a silent moment of _who the hell is our co-worker?_ “You’re aware of what it sounds like, right?”

“You sound like you fucked Rose for the position,” Nancy manages to say with a straight face. "I get it, I mean, Rose is _gorgeous,_ and she's so fucking cool—"

Jonathan and Steve are the ones sharing a look this time, their mouths twisted into grins. Jonathan asks, "Do _you_ want to fuck Rose?"

Nancy swats Jonathan's arm. "Don't be weird. Come on, she's literally the coolest person alive. I would kill for her to be my grandmother."

"Then please don't kill me."

"Rose is your _grandmother?_ "

Steve awkwardly laughs, pointing between them both. "Do you guys, like, practice speaking in sync—"

"Steve," they both say pointedly, before whipping their heads around to look at each other.

"Okay, that was weird. Stop doing that."

"Me, stop—you stop! How do I—okay, hold on, we're getting distracted. Rose is your _grandmother?_ " Nancy's mouth splits into a grin. "Holy shit."

"That's cool," Jonathan adds, "did you take the job to spend more time with her?"

Steve loudly chews on his burger. "I mean," he says through a mouthful of food, "that's kinda an added bonus? My dad wanted me to intern at his firm for the summer, when I'd rather pull an Icarus and fly into the sun—"

"I mean, technically, Icarus didn't fly into the sun, he flew too closely, but I appreciate the reference," Nancy cuts in.

"Whatever, you understand what I _mean,_ " he says, smiling almost proudly, "and I was complaining to her about it. I couldn't say no to him and it sounded like fucking hell, so she guilt-tripped him into letting me work for her. She said, and I quote, 'I'd love to spend time with my grandson before I die', and my dad's an ass, sure, but like. He's not—okay, yeah, no, he is that big of an ass, it's just my mom started bawling at that, and she would've killed _him_ if he didn't let me work for her."

"See," Nancy says, "total bad-ass."

"I can't imagine you at a business firm," Jonathan says without thinking. "Shit, sorry, that's pretty rude."

Steve laughs. "No, it's not. I can't either. I mean, business is cool if you genuinely like it, but it's not for me. I just. I need to be on my feet, you know?"

"We know," Jonathan says, "you're always fidgeting. And speaking. You never shut up."

Steve gasps, but before he can fire back an insult, Nancy says, "If you're talking about your family or photography, _you_ never shut up either."

Oh. "Um, I—"

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing," she quickly corrects, her eyes widening. "I just—it's nice, honestly—you get all passionate and—and—"

Steve leans forward, propping his face up with his hands. "Aw, Jonathan, you made her blush."

"I don't blush."

"Your cheeks are red," Jonathan notes, and shit, he _did_ make her blush.

"What happened to talking about _Steve_ and how _he_ can't talk?"

"Yes, I'm an annoying little shit, we've established that. But we should keep talking about how you're blushing and how utterly adorable it is."

"Jonathan!"

"No, I agree with Steve."

"You're both terrible. I don't know why you're my friends."

Friends? The word isn't foreign to Jonathan. He knows what it means, sure. It's always something he's pined for, something he wanted on his loneliest nights, always blamed it on the revolting people that went to his high school. To hear Nancy actually call _him_ one of his friends is unreal and delightful, and it's something he'd never let himself admit that he wanted. For it to be here, right in the palm of his hands ... he can't describe the feeling.

He's used to being alone, to just the love and familiarity from his family. But it's not all that different from that, is it? It still gives him this light, warm feeling sizzling in his chest.

"'Cause you _loooove_ us, isn't that right—hey, man, you okay?"

Jonathan blinks, seeing the shared frown on both Nancy and Steve's faces. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just trying to memorize the look of Nancy Wheeler blushing."

He absolutely deserves the handful of fries she throws at him.

* * *

He's so used to seeing Nancy at work, that he's a little baffled to see her standing by the front door of his house.

"Hey, Nancy," he says, abandoning his mission for a bowl of cereal to walk towards her.

Her eyes trail down his body, her lower lip curling into a smirk. "Cute PJ's."

His face flushes. He's wearing an orange, minions shirt (Hopper gave it to him as a birthday gift last year and he was too heartened by the gesture that he _had_ to keep it) and a pair of boxers. "It's laundry day and don't you worry, the black ensemble will be back tomorrow."

"But I like seeing you in actual colour. The orange really, um, brings out your eyes. And, uh, minions?"

Jonathan grimaces. "My, uh, my mom's boyfriend gave it to me."

"I get that. My dad got me a My Little Pony shirt for my sixteenth and Mike called me a _brony_ whenever my mom made me wear it. Isn't that term only for guys who like My Little Pony?"

"You say that like I'd know."

"Well, you are a fan of minions," she says, grinning.  Her smile is infectious, wide and bright, and she looks beautiful, with her blouse and shorts, hair messily tied into a ponytail. It'd make for a great picture, and then he’s hit with the strongest urge to _take_ a picture of her. He tries not think about what that might mean.

She blurts out, "Shit, you're distracting me. Knock it off. I'm here to pick up Mike. My mom's waiting in the car. Could you get him please?"

"They're all still sleeping. It's probably going to take awhile for him to get up and his stuff ready. I can always drop him off, if that's okay with your mom. My step-dad wanted to make them all brunch, anyway."

"I'll just ask," Nancy says, proceeding to turn around and scream, " _Mom_ _,_ can Mike stay over—"

"Nancy," Mrs. Wheeler chides, "how on earth can I hear you from there?"

"We're only a few feet ap—oh, fine _._ " She stomps over to her mother's car and Jonathan laughs, because annoyed Nancy can be hilarious when it's not horrifying. 

Nancy skips back up to the front door after a brief exchange of words. She waves her mom goodbye, and then Mrs. Wheeler drives off.

"You're staying?"

"Is that okay? Fuck, I probably should've asked first, but—"

"Of course it is. Let me just change into something nicer."

"Don't, I don't think I can get enough of you in a _minion_ shirt." She pulls her phone out from her pocket, taking a picture of him. Jonathan's honestly too disgruntled from having just woken up to care as much as he would otherwise. "Y'know, for Steve to see."

"Yeah, no, that's not going to happen."

Nancy laughs, kicking the front door shut. "I already took your picture, Jonathan."

She's already sprinting away from him before Jonathan's even decided to run after her, and well, why the fuck not? Steve won't let him live this down, _ever,_ and Nancy's flashing him a challenging grin from in between his sofa and coffee table.

He runs towards her and he stops in his track when she jumps over his sofa, giggling. "You can't catch me," she sings.

Obviously, he's aware of that. But he still tries.

"Nancy," he pants after ten minutes of running around. He's seconds away from collapsing to the floor. How the hell did no one wake up from all the rumbling? "I will. Give you my firstborn. If you. Don't show Steve."

She clutches her phone to her chest, remaining a good two feet away from him. "Ha. No way. In hell. C'mon, Jonathan, he won't be a dick."

Jonathan raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, I'll make sure he won't be a dick. He'll probably think you're cute."

Jonathan makes a strangled noise, because what?  Jonathan's not _cute,_ and Steve would find Nancy cute, not him. "Nancy."

"Fine. If you don't want him to see. But I'm keeping the picture." She pauses. "Is that okay with you?"

He laughs, nodding. "Yeah, whatever you want. Come on. I'm gonna make some cereal."

"You don't make cereal, you—"

"Nancy, it's nine in the morning. On a Saturday. In July. Leave me alone."

Nancy looks around his kitchen, fawning over every baby picture she sees. The refrigerator is covered in dozens of photos, nearly all of them taken by Jonathan, and she's silent as she examines them. Jonathan sneaks a peek at her face as he eats his cereal. Her face is blank, but there's something meaningful in how she slowly, intently takes in each picture, running her fingers over the edges of whichever she's looking at.

Jonathan doesn't know why he's so interested in what her thoughts of his photography are. People always see his pictures. He's his school's photographer, part of the yearbook committee, and takes pictures on the side for newly-baptized babies, wedding anniversaries, or the birthdays of dogs for some residents of Hawkins.

He'd only really started to consider photography for his future in the beginning of junior year when one of the photography teachers pulled him aside after one of their first assignments. Mrs. Denbok absolutely _gushed_ at him, earnestly telling him that he had a gift. It was that same week where he, and all of the juniors, had a guidance appointment to discuss their futures—fun, right—and when he'd timidly expressed his passion for photography, his guidance counsellor told him that now was a great time to build up his portfolio. He'd spent all year throwing himself into as much photography as possible, and it was horrifyingly new in the best way possible.

So he'd gotten used to people outside of his family seeing his pictures, so Nancy wasn't any different. Or she _shouldn't_ be at least. But he still finds himself anxiously waiting for her to say something, literally anything about those pictures she stared at.

After what feels like a million years, Nancy turns around and asks, "Did you take these?"

"Yeah. I'm, uh, into photography. I'm our school's—"

"Photographer, yeah, I know. I guess I don't pay enough attention to the school's social media or yearbook or whatever, but holy shit. These are _b_ _eautiful._ " Nancy grins, rushing to take the seat opposite of Jonathan.  

It's difficult meeting her eyes when she's complimenting him so genuinely, but he tries, his cheeks hot and red. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"You should have more pictures of you up on your fridge, though."

Jonathan shrugs, swallowing a mouthful of cereal. "I like taking pictures of my family, and my parents don't know how to use a camera, and Will and Jane aren't, um. Their photos aren't—"

"They're shit photographers, got it," Nancy cuts in. "Let me take one of you."

"Technically, you already _did_ take one of me."

"No, smart-ass, a legit picture. I'll have you pose and everything. What do you say?"

"I'll think about it."

Nancy swiftly kicks him from underneath the table. "You and I both know that means _no._ I'll get me that picture, Byers."

Jonathan's eyes crinkle with a smile. "Sure, Wheeler, sure."

"Morning."

Nancy and Jonathan nearly jump as their heads snap to the doorframe where Hopper stands, yawning into his arm. He's in a pair of boxers and a ratty, white shirt, walking inside the kitchen.

"Morning," Jonathan replies. "Mom still sleeping?"

"Like a log. So are the kids. I'm gonna start cooking somethin' anyway. Does your girlfriend want anything?"

"She's not—"

"We're not—"

Hopper raises a hand, bracing himself against the kitchen counter. "Okay, okay, my bad _._ Would you like anything?"

Nancy smiles politely, sitting straighter. "Anything you're making would be nice."

They exchange awkward smiles, but don't mention it afterwards. Nancy spends the morning and most of the afternoon at his house, and he catches Hopper's eye a few times, the slightly raised eyebrow as he looks at Nancy, then him, and ignores him. Most people would make that assumption, seeing a girl and a boy, smiling together. It's not a big deal.

* * *

"You made it incorrectly."

"No, I didn't, your tastebuds are just garbage."

"Your face is garbage."

"At least I have a soul."

"Hey, fuck off."

" _Hey!_ Stop swearing," Nancy shouts, eyes snapping away from her phone to glare in Max and Steve's direction. Steve's sitting with Max at a table near the cash register, leaning his chair back and forth. Max sits opposite to him, playing with the spoon in her ice cream cup.

Max puffs, jabbing a finger at Steve. "He started it."

"Steve!"

"What, hey, _she_ swore first. Don't _Steve_ me, Nance."

Jonathan fights back a laugh, tilting his head up to watch Steve roll his eyes and call Max a gremlin.

"I don't know what that is, grandpa."

"I'm only, like, three years older than you, stop being such a shit-head—"

"Steve," Nancy cries out. "Stop swearing, fuck-face! Shit, wait. Fuck."

Jonathan can't suppress his laugh anymore, swinging his feet back and forth from the end of the counter.

"What're you laughing at, huh?"

He freezes, but then notices Steve's smile, the breeziness in his tone. He's only trying to include him. "You're both disasters. You and Nancy," he clarifies, setting his book down next to him. "Max is cool."

"And Jonathan, see, this is why I like you."

"You're only sucking up to him 'cause he's your girlfriend's brother—"

"Jane is not my girlfriend."

"Liar."

Nancy rolls her eyes, turning her head to look at Jonathan. "Why does Steve remind me so much of my little brother?"

"Can't relate. Will is an angel."

"Yeah, yeah, your brother is a gift from heaven, we get it." Nancy grins, marching up to him. "I think it's cute, though."

"What, Will?"

"No—I mean, yeah _,_ he is precious. But I mean them." She gestures to Steve and Max, who's conversation has taken a complete one-eighty, Steve playing patty-cake with Max, both with grins on their faces.

Jonathan never really expected Steve to be like _this._

He's not only talking about him being good with kids (even if technically Max and the rest of the kids are teens). It's him in general. The friendliness with customers, the way he'll actually do work, the way he'll calm Nancy down whenever she freaks out when it's particularly busy, and the way it seems like he genuinely likes Jonathan. He'll talk to him during their shifts, make fun of him to which Jonathan will make fun of him back until Nancy calls them both fuck-wads and they'll all insult each other (the insults become stupid—shit like 'your face is dumb' so no one's feelings are legitimately hurt), and randomly make him ice-cream. (Somehow, he knows that blueberry is his favourite. Jonathan suspects he asked Will.)

And, biggest plot-twist of his life, he thinks he might be friends with Steve Harrington. That sentence shouldn't even make sense, but it does, right along with the sentences—

He's friends with Nancy Wheeler.

He _has_ friends.

Jonathan doesn't know how long it'll last, but he'll enjoy it while it does.

"Yeah," he says, his eyes drifting to Nancy who watch them fondly, "they are cute."

And _Nancy._ Don't even get him started on Nancy.

* * *

Never-mind, please ignore that. Let's get him started.

Nancy Wheeler is something else entirely. He's only a little horrified of her, jumping every time she'll snap at the kids whenever they become particularly insolent (which is rare), like the one time someone (they wouldn't admit it to Nancy in that moment, but it was Dustin) _broke_ one of the chairs.

She's nice to be around, simply put. Talking to her is as easy as breathing, because it's like she sees him and sees past the surface layer. He wonders what she sees sometimes, but she must like it if she's talking to him as much as she is. He doesn't know how she does it, but he talks to her without having to think, without filtering himself, without any restrictions.

She's so brazenly confident, like when Steve and Jonathan refused to tell the bubble tea place next-door to have their enormously-long line _stop_ crowding by their front entrance. She marched right over, told them in an eerily-calm voice to organize their business and stop interfering with theirs, and walked back with a victorious grin.

He particularly likes how she's also a huge softie. She'll call Mike an asshole, then, when he's not looking and she thinks no one else is looking, smile at him with a warmth he knows he only has for Will and Jane. She's brought her four year-old sister around twice, and the way she plays with her, feeds her ice cream, and lifts her into the air is precious. Absolutely precious.

He knows Steve likes her. It's obvious. Steve smiles and cracks more jokes whenever she's in sight, always offering to help her with something or take over the parts of her job (cash register) she doesn't like.

Jonathan _thinks_ Nancy knows about it. But she hasn't made a move and neither has Steve.

As for Jonathan, well—Nancy and Steve would be cute together.

That's all he has to say.

* * *

His doorbell chimes on a Saturday during the second week of July.

Jonathan waits for a few seconds to hear the rustling of footsteps, but when it's silent, he rolls off his bed. "I've got it."

He mindlessly opens the door without checking the peephole, figuring it's probably one of Jane and Will's friends.

But no. It's _Steve._

"Um," Jonathan says intelligibly, "how do you know where I live?"

Steve frowns as he takes in the sight of Jonathan. "You're not wearing a minion shirt. Or boxers. You're wearing all black, like usual, which, I mean, _is_ a good look, but still. What the hell?"

"What're you—Nancy showed you the picture?"

He grimaces, scratching the back of his neck. "Wasn't supposed to tell you, oops. Don't tell Nancy. It was cute, you don't have to be embarrassed."

Jonathan doesn't know how to answer that. His cheeks pink as he ducks his head. "What're you—what're you doing here?"

"What, I can't just pop in to say hi to my friend?"

Jonathan stares pointedly.

"Okay, I'm here to pick up your brother and sister."

"My—my what? Why?"

"You can't laugh, okay? Seriously. I'm taking the kids to an amusement park."

"Oh. Why would I laugh? That's pretty sweet of you. Have fun."

Steve nods, leaning against the doorframe. It makes for a nice picture: him in a muscle tank, hair ridiculously yet artfully tousled, and a faint smile stretching across his mouth. "Thanks, man. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? I was thinking you, me, and Nance could grab something to eat. Try that pho place."

"And give money to our competition? No way."

"C'mon, their platters are pretty good."

Jonathan pretends to gasp. "Steve. Dude. Don't tell me you—"

"I was hungry _._ Plus, Nance wasn't here that day and you had to leave immediately to pick up your brother, otherwise I totally would've made you guys try it with me."

Jonathan smiles. "Who's to say we would've given in?"

Steve laughs, and it's such a pleasant sound that Jonathan laughs a little, too. "Because I'm me _._ And you guys like me too much."

"Nancy, maybe. Definitely not me."

"Oh, Jonathan," he says easily, and he's definitely taking a step forward, and wow, there's not a lot of space between them anymore, is there? Any closer and Steve will certainly _hear_ how loudly Jonathan's heart thumps in his chest. "You like me. Me and my ass."

Jonathan's so surprised he lets out another laugh, shaking his head. He's never letting the accidental ass-touch go, is he? "Bullshit. I dislike you. And I don't like your ass, 'cause _you're_ an ass, so—"

"So otherwise, you'd like my ass?"

"You're annoying." Jonathan's smile doesn't do much to make his words come off as convincing. 

"You can't call your best friend annoying."

"I didn't call Will annoying."

"Will's your best friend? That's the cutest thing I've ever—"

Jonathan hears footsteps and instinctively takes a few steps away from Steve as though they'd been caught doing something inappropriate. "Hey, Hopper," he says, voice cracking. 

Hopper lifts his head in acknowledgement, clad in his work attire. "Your mom should be home soon, I can call her and ask her to buy a pizza or something for you and your friend."

"He's not my friend. He's just a nuisance."

"Now you're being hurtful _—_ "

"It's okay," Jonathan says, trying not to grin, "he's here to pick up Will and Jane."

"Oh, alright. I'll see you later. Take care of 'em, okay?" Hopper says, directing his focus to Steve as he walks up to him.

Steve gulps, nodding. "Yes, sir, of course."

Hopper nods back, pleased with his response, then turns to pat Jonathan's arm. "I'll see you at dinner."

"Unless Miss Smith loses her glasses. Again."

Hopper's mouth twitches into a grin. "Then you won't see me for _days._ Could take up the entire damn week." He steps past them and into his car, driving off.

Steve waits until Hopper's out of view to blurt out, "Your dad is the _Chief?_ "

Jonathan shrugs, not bothering to correct him with the _step_ part of dad. "Yeah."

"Holy shit. That's cool."

"You know," Jonathan starts, drawing in a deep breath. "I don't actually think you're annoying."

"I know, Jonathan, of course—you can't find your best friend annoying." Steve winks. Jonathan's an absolute goner and his mind can't figure out what to say next.

Thankfully, Steve's phone rings.

"Yeah, what's up—hey, stop fucking shouting at me. Am I or am I not your driver, huh? Okay, jeez, I'm only like five minutes late. Well I got _sidetracked._ Stop—okay, okay, Dustin, I—I'll be there soon." Steve hangs up, shoving his phone into his back-pocket. "You're distracting, you know that? Could you call Jane and Will over? I think Dustin might honestly murder me if I'm not at his house in five."

"Jane! Will! C'mon, you're making Steve late."

"They're making me late? Wrong Byers, don't you think?"

"Whatever."

Will and Jane buzz past him, out through the front door with breathless, "Hi, Steve"'s and "Bye, Jonathan"'s.

"You had the front seat last time," Will huffs.

"And I'm having it again."

Steve grins, leaning forward to whisper, "I locked the car."

"They're going to murder each other for that seat when you unlock your car."

"Why do you think I locked it?"

Jonathan chuckles. "You gonna be okay with six kids?"

"I like 'em. They're better than most of the people that I'm friends with anyway. Obviously, I'm not talking about you and Nancy."

"Obviously," he says easily, and feeling a little inspired by Steve, adds, "you like us too much."

Steve smiles, soft and slow. "Yeah. I do."

"Steve," Will yells exasperatedly, "can you stop flirting with my brother? The park gets busy at two, we talked about this."

Steve steps backwards, looking anywhere but at Jonathan's eyes. He stammers out, "I wasn't flirting, what—"

"I'll—I'll see you tomorrow, Steve," Jonathan says.

"See you, Jonathan."

Steve walks backwards with a dopey, dazed smile, nearly tripping on his way out. It's endearing. He watches him go, watches him smile at him through the front seat as he pulls out of their driveway and drives off. Stares wistfully for a few seconds even after they're gone.

* * *

"Careful, don't step on him."

"As in, don't step on him the way _you_ stepped on him two minutes ago?"

"I told you, Nance, it was an accident!"

"I bet you can't even see from all the way down there, seeing how you're built like a fucking building, fifty feet above from civilization."

"Aw, is someone jealous that they're short?"

"I'm not short."

"You're short and you're a liar."

"You step on people."

"You step on the truth."

Jonathan stirs, reflexively curling up into a ball. Why are they so loud? Why is he on the floor? He opens his eyes, hit with a wave of exhaustion. He wants to continue sleeping, wants to shut his eyes to the lull of Steve and Nancy's banter, but he's at work. And on the floor. "Was I sleeping?"

"Jonathan!"

Nancy squats down in front of him, her eyebrows furrowed. "You fell asleep, yeah. You went to take your break, sat on the counter, and fell asleep. You also literally fell, right onto the floor."

"Shit. I didn't sleep well last night, 'm sorry for—" The rest of his sentence is swallowed by his yawn.

Nancy watches him with a small smile.

"What is it?"

Her smile immediately falls off her face and she stands up, not looking at him. "What was that? Nothing, I wasn't—Steve, look who's awake," she calls out loudly.

Jonathan turns his head and sees Steve drop his broom from behind the counter. "You're awake, finally! Nance and I thought you passed out for a second there. We had the kids bring you a pillow and blanket."

"That's—wow, that's nice. Thank you?"

Nancy pulls him up to his feet. "C'mon. It's five and people are starting to come in."

The next three hours are an absolute _hell._ People crowd in and it doesn't help that the shop itself isn't that big, feeling smaller and smaller than it already is. Jonathan starts to sweat when the line extends past the front doors, but no one's snapped at any of them yet.

"We're good, we're good, we're good," Steve'll repeat in an unusually high voice as he rushes back and forth between tables, hastily wiping and cleaning them.

"I am _this_ close to breaking down and sobbing," Nancy says through a wide grin that almost looks painful, Jonathan chuckling as he passes a cup of ice cream over the counter.

Jonathan tries not to let his exterior show how panicked he is, the more and more people come in. He doesn't want to further their panicking. He's been in stressful situations all of his life, ranging from his dad and his bullshit, to helping his mom deal with everything after he left. He put up a good front to give her one less thing to worry about and so that Will didn't notice that anything was wrong. He can pretend to be calm and cool. Even  _if_ he wants to crawl into a hole and sleep for a year after this shift. 

Eventually, after they're worn out, exhausted, and done with social interaction, their shift ends and they pass the mess on to the night crew. Squeezing past the crowd of people, Jonathan laughs as they huddle together on the sidewalk.

"I don't ever want to do that again," he says.

"Can't believe I'm saying this, but I _miss_ when it's just the kids," Steve sighs.

Nancy snorts. "Liar. You love them all."

"I'm not lying."

"You took them to an amusement park," Jonathan hums. 

"What—hey, you're supposed to be on my side!"

"When have I ever, ever agreed with you on anything?"

Steve opens his mouth to retort, before defeatedly shutting it. "You're an ass."  

Jonathan shrugs. "Yeah."

"Stop arguing," Nancy scowls, tugging on both of their arms. "Let's try that pho restaurant."

"You want to be a traitor, too?"

"Jonathan, I'm starving. I might eat your arm off if I don't eat anything. Do you want me to eat your arm off?"

"No?"

Nancy smiles, pulling them again, towards the restaurant. "Good. Let's go."

"Yes!" Steve cheers, and Jonathan rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

The pho restaurant is small, nicely-lit, with red everywhere. It's quiet, empty, giving Jonathan a random flash of intimacy that's further deepened when they slide into a booth, Nancy squeezing in next to him, and Steve across from them.

While they comb through their menu, Nancy looks over Jonathan's shoulder. He becomes acutely aware of her slow, heavy breathing, how her arm grazes his. It doesn't help when Steve's leg suddenly lays on top of his thigh.

"'S it okay if I put my legs here?"

"Is your shoe dirty?" Nancy replies calmly, flipping to the next page.

"Um." Steve ducks his head underneath the table. "Nope."

"Then it's fine."

"Jonathan?"

He lifts his head up at the iteration of his name, at how _softly_ Steve says it.

"Is it okay?" 

"Yeah. Yeah." Jonathan's cheeks warm and he appreciates having the excuse of the menu to look away.

They order their own, separate plates, Jonathan opting for a small, regular pho since it's the cheapest and safest option. Nancy and Steve both order medium phos with excessive vegetables. 

"This is good," Nancy breathes after her first spoonful, "So fucking good. And you came here without us?"

Steve raises his hands defensively. " _You_ were the one to catch a cold in the middle of summer. _He_ has a brother to take care of. What's up with you and your weak immune system?"

"My—oh, at least I'm not the one who jumps over the counter, falls over, and slams their head on the floor, nearly giving themselves a concussion."

"That was only _three times—_ "

"Three times?" Jonathan repeats incredulously, nearly dropping his spoon in his bowl. "That's ridiculous. How are you still alive?"

Steve ignores him, elbows dropping onto the table as he inches his face closer to Nancy and Jonathan. "I think," he says, "you're just sad you missed out on a potential date with us."

Jonathan coughs on a beef ball, which completely goes unnoticed by the both of them—rude—as Steve grins, something about its sharpness making heat pool in Jonathan's stomach. Nancy flushes. 

But she leans forward too, an eyebrow raised. He doesn't miss the slight, upwards curve of her mouth. "Who's to say I was really sick? Maybe I wanted an excuse to not see you."

"Ouch. You wound me, truly."

He shrinks into the corner, not knowing how to handle their blatant flirting. It's a little awkward, but he's got his soup.

"Surely not as hard as our workplace's floor." Nancy nudges Jonathan. "Jonathan, back me up."

He hastily swallows a spoonful of his soup that burns his throat. "Ooh, burn?"

"You could've said that with a little more enthusiasm, but I'll take it."

Steve shakes his head. "Jonathan, don't let her intimidate you. I know she can be scary—"

"I'm not scary! Am I scary?" Nancy shouts.

"You did threaten to eat my arm, like, twenty minutes ago."

She narrows her eyes, elbowing him. "Go back to eating your soup."

"Happily."

"You're horrifying," Steve says, "but it's kinda hot." 

Steve and Nancy go back and forth, their banter easy and light. Jonathan watches them, interjecting a few times. He likes listening to them. He could do it for hours. He's not annoyed, either, or left-out because Steve continuously taps his foot against his thigh whenever Nancy jabs back ("Jonathan, can you believe the nerve?"). Nancy's hand has somehow interlaced with his and she squeezes his hand occasionally, usually saying, "See, Jonathan agrees with me. Right?"

They split dessert. Steve heads out to the washroom when they finish their slice of cake.

"Hey," Nancy says gently, touching his forearm. "We're not excluding you or anything, right?"

"What? No, no, you're not. Honestly."

"Good. I don't want you to think that I don't—I mean, we're friends,all of us, you know that, right?"

Jonathan smiles, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "Yeah. I do. I'm, uh, I'm pretty glad I know you. Both of you."

Nancy squeezes his hand again. "Me too." The way she looks at him is so tender and warm, and he wants to take a picture, wants to capture what _has_ to be adoration and comfort in her eyes, the beginning of a smile, the softness of her hair—

Steve walks back, smoothing his hands over his jeans. "Okay, let's go."

"Wait, we need to pay," Nancy says.

"No we didn't. I just did." He dangles a receipt in front of them, before crumpling and shoving it into his pocket.

"Steve, you shouldn't have—"

He waves his hand. "Stop. It's not a big deal. What're you gonna do about it anyway?"

Jonathan wipes his mouth with a napkin, scrunching his eyebrows up contemplatively."Be annoying about it?"

Steve laughs. "Sounds about right."

"Next one's on me," Nancy says stubbornly, standing up. She doesn't let go of Jonathan's hand, and he's not about to either, even if he profusely sweats.

"We'll see about that." 

Steve drops Nancy off, then Jonathan. "You know," he starts to say, pulling up into Jonathan's driveway. "You're actually pretty cool."

Jonathan's so stunned he nearly laughs. "Um, thanks?"

"I mean—okay, like, I'm—are there ever people, or things that you just—you get so completely wrong. Like, you think one thing, one stupid, dumb thing and then boom. You're proven wrong in the best way possible?"

 _Yes,_ Jonathan thinks, _you. You proved me wrong in the best way possible._ He doesn't say that, instead mumbling out, "Yeah?"

Steve smiles. He looks almost relieved. "You're an unexpected gem. Nancy, Nancy I kinda expected to be as great as she is, but you—you threw me off." 

"Like that counter when you fell off and—"

"Never-mind, you suck. I take back what I said."

* * *

There's a sharp knock on the door of Jonathan's bedroom.  He closes his laptop, putting a pause to sorting through the pictures he's taken over the last week. Mostly shots of his family, a few of Nancy and Steve.

"Come in."

Will opens the door, shutting it behind him. "Can you help me with something?"

"Course." He pats the other side of his bed. "What's up?"

Will crawls in to the spot. "I need help making a mixtape. You know how to do that ancient stuff, right?"

"Ancient, what are you talking about, it was only—wait, why do you want a mixtape?"

He avoids Jonathan's gaze, staring at a loose thread in Jonathan's comforter. "To give to someone."

Jonathan can't help but grin. "Who?"

"No one!"

"Oh, c'mon—"

"It's not a big deal."

"You're crushing on someone. It's a big deal." Then, he adds softly, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"You can't tell anyone."

Jonathan pretends to zip his mouth. "Secret's safe with me, buddy."

"I may or may not have a minor, small, tiny, tiny crush on Mike?"

He tries to be cool, honestly. But it's so damn precious, seeing his brother blush about someone. He also likes that Will's comfortable and willing to be this open with Jonathan. He'd always worried that when Will and Jane entered their teen years, they'd shut him out. But that hasn't happened yet, nor does it look like it'll happen anytime soon. Their family still has their weekly board-game night, and when their parents ask them about their day during dinner, they give actual answers. Nothing has relieved him more than still having both of his siblings still _want_ to be his siblings. "Does he know about it?"

Will cries out, "No! But here's the thing: Lucas says he's pretty sure Mike likes me, but I don't know if he only said that 'cause he _thinks_ I like Mike, and we hang out a lot, just the two of us but—that doesn't mean anything. Does it? I have feelings, oh my gosh, this is too much, I don't want to feel things for another human being, who allowed this to happen?" He groans, falling onto Jonathan's bed. 

Jonathan chuckles, and shifts until he lays next to Will. "I get you. Wanna hear a secret?"

Will turns to him, interest piqued. "Yes."

"You can't tell."

"Obviously."

He draws in a deep breath. Exhales. Repeats it a few more times. "I think I like someone."

Will gasps. "It's Nancy, isn't it? Dustin and Mike think it's Steve, but me, Max, and Lucas think it's Nancy, and Jane thinks it's _both_ —"

"Well, err, Jane's right."

Where he expects judgement or scandalized gasp, he gets this instead: "Does this mean we all win five dollars?"

"Nah, I think only Jane does."

"Wait—you like them _both? Ohmygod_ , tell me everything."

"I...like them both. I don't know what else to—"

"Do you know what details are, Jonathan? Huh?"

* * *

 Jonathan is in the middle of making a chocolate fudge-flavoured cup of ice cream for Max when she asks, her voice uncharacteristically timid, "Hey, Jonathan?" 

"Yeah, Max?"

"Does Jane, like, ever talk about me?"

Jonathan almost drops the ice cream. "Um, she mentions you, yeah. But she hasn't, um. Said anything specific about you."

Max's cheeks resemble her hair, her fingers nervously tucking a strand behind her ear. "It's not like I care or anything."

Jonathan tries not to grin, maintaining eye contact as he continues the process. Three and a half weeks at this job and he's perfected the craft. "You should talk to her."

"About what?"

"How you have a gigantic, raging crush on her?"

"I don't," Max insists. She crosses her arms over her chest, glancing back at the table the kids are all seated at on the other side of the shop, a few, safe feet away. Her eyes land on Jane and something in her tight expression softens. "Okay, I do. But I don't think she likes me back."

"C'mon, Max, you're great. And they wouldn't tease you two if they didn't think anything was there, would they?"

Max shrugs. "They're assholes. I don't know."

Jonathan stares at her flatly.

"Okay, I guess you have a point. But what do I even say? Hey, Jane, I have the world's hugest crush on you? I think you're strong and bad-ass and thinking about you makes me smile? I really want to hold your hand? Psh. No way."

"That's perfect. Say exactly that."

"I'll think about it." Then a mischievous grin tugs at her mouth. "What about you, huh? You and Nancy? 'Cause you like her, right? Nancy, not Steve?"

Jonathan bites on the inside of his cheeks, smiling. The kids' stupid bet. "I'm not saying anything."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. But I mean, you could have whichever one you wanted. I'm kinda convinced they're both whipped for you."

Jonathan says as evenly as possible, "Why?"

"Steve's always teasing you, Nancy's always smiling with you and holding your hand. But then I also kind of think _they_ have a thing going on, because they flirt, like, all the time. Teens. I can't keep up, your hormones are crazy."

"You're a teen, too, you know."

"Do  _I_ have a crush on two different people? I thought so."

* * *

He catches his mom on a morning where he doesn't have work.

"Jonathan!" She's dressed in her work uniform, a cup of coffee in one hand, toast in the other. "Why are you awake at seven in the morning?"

"Uh—" He tries to come up with a plausible excuse, before her eyes narrow and she wags her slice of toast at him.

"You didn't go to sleep yet, did you?"

"In my defence—"

"Defend this, yes, please."

"I love you?"

She laughs and he breaks into a smile. His mother's laughter has to be one of his favourite things in the world, along with Jane's cookies, Will's drawings, the minion shirt Hopper gifted him (purely because it was from Hopper, he is _not_ a minion fan), Steve's hair, Nancy's smile—

She pulls him into a hug, and he's grateful for it because he doesn't think about how easily Steve and Nancy came into his head. "Go to sleep soon. Actually, eat this first, then go to bed."

He grabs the piece of bread laying on a plate by the sink, biting into it. "How do you manage to make toast taste terrible?"

"You know what, you can starve."

"Starvation might actually be the better alternative to this."

His mother smiles, setting her cup of coffee down. She reaches forward to tousle his hair. "Smart-ass. Got any plans today?"

"Might be going out with Steve and Nancy later."

"When do I get to meet these two? Will's told me that they're both lovely."

Jonathan shrugs. "Steve comes over sometimes to pick up Will. And you've met Nancy. Kind of."

"But I haven't met Nancy as your friend. I can show her embarrassing pictures of you—"

"Mom—"

"Who am I kidding, all pictures of you are embarrassing—"

"Wow, um. That's kinda your fault, you know? You gave me terrible genes."

"Hey, no, you don't get to do that to me," she laughs. "I should invite them for dinner."

He imagines what that'd be like: Hopper, his mom, Will, Jane, Steve, and Nancy. All in one room. "They might actually like that."  _He_ might actually like that, too.

"Good. Now go to sleep before I make you."

"How will you make me sleep?" 

* * *

Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan sit at their own table while the kids occupy a booth of opposite ends of the store.

They keep an eye on them, but give up after the third time someone's pushed out of their seats. "If they give themselves a concussion, that's their problem," Nancy sighs.

"They're cute, though," Steve says, pointing his spoon at them. "Haven't gotten to high school yet, haven't gotten self-conscious. I hope they don't lose that."

"Don't tell me you're self-conscious," Jonathan says.

"Okay, sure, maybe not now, but I've been before, y'know? Don't act like you've never gotten self-conscious."

Jonathan doesn't say anything, because Steve's not wrong.

"I hope they all stay friends," Nancy says wistfully. "They can go through whatever phases or periods of self-questioning or whatever, but they'll be okay if they have each other. Life's not that bad if you have people by your side."

Jonathan smiles at that.

Steve, meanwhile, beams. "You're talking about us, right? 'Cause you love us."

"Love is strong. Like...is also strong. Tolerate, maybe? Tolerate sounds about right."

"You tell yourself that, Nance. You tell yourself that." He winks, taking in a spoonful of his dessert. It's more adorable than charming, because he leaves a splotch of ice cream on his nose.

Nancy laughs. "You've got a little, uh." She leans forward, dabbing his nose with a napkin.

They both smile at each other, awkwardly and nervously. Steve's usual bravado is nowhere to be found, a flush creeping up his neck.

It makes Jonathan wonder why neither of them have done anything. Because he's thought about them, really thought about them together, and it's not like he'd be jealous. That'd be ridiculous, right? Jealous of them both? He'd probably pine, but that's only for the rest of the summer. When they go back to school, everything will go back to normal: Steve will have his obnoxious friends, Nancy will greet him politely whenever their lives intersect from their brother's friendships, and that'll be that.

Depressing, but it's how it works. He can't imagine their friendship as anything more than a summer thing: seasonal, brief, temporary. Over before you know it.

"I was wondering if you guys wanted to come over to my place tonight?"

Jonathan answers, "yes," quickly, and he's relieved that no one notices how he quickly he replied.

* * *

Steve Harrington's house is huge. Bigger than what Jonathan expected. Jonathan tries not to gawk when Steve ushers him and Nancy inside, marvelling at everything he sees: the grand staircase, how fucking spacious the first floor is, the decor, the artwork hung up. It's elegant, regal, and castle-like.

Steve leads them into his backyard, which is of course larger than what Jonathan expected.

"I have alcohol."

They each slip into a lawn chair by his pool, Steve passing Nancy a drink. "Jonathan?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Uh-huh." He doesn't drink. Blame his dad for that. "Soda's okay."

"Sure thing."

The sun has started to melt in the sky. The stars aren't out, but they will be soon enough. He likes the scene: the three of them underneath a sunset. No uniforms, no customers, nothing in between them.

Nancy downs her entire can of alcohol in one go, letting it fall to her lap. "Steve, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, you can, you can always ask me anything, you know, we—yeah, I'll stop."

"You've been hanging out with us all summer."

"That's a fact."

"It's called a dramatic pause, obvi—anyway, sorry, my point is: where are your other friends? Tommy, Carol?"

Steve stiffens, straightening in his chair. "Do you ever wake up and realize that it's all bullshit? That like, so much shit that you worry about doesn't matter? That you have all of your priorities fucked up? It's not even—it's not even like there was this big moment. Tommy fucking made fun of someone's hair, said it made 'em look gay, and I just. Fucking _lost_ it. Like they're such shitty people. All of them. And I don't...I don't do that kinda shit, but I'm friends with people who do. Doesn't that make me as bad as them? If I laugh instead of act like a decent person?"

That was definitely not what Jonathan expected Steve to say. 

"Shit," Nancy exhales. "I see what you mean."

Jonathan doesn't say anything, continuing to watch Steve earnestly. He nods when Steve looks at him, silently urging him to continue.

"I don't wanna be that person. I don't know _who_ I wanna be, but I wanna be someone better."

"You are," Jonathan says. "Someone better. You're not a bad person."

Steve swallows, slouching back into his seat. "Thank you."

"That's not easy to do. Trying to change. I respect that," Nancy commends. "You should be proud of yourself."

Steve smiles. "Now that I've shared something deeply personal, one of you are up next."

"I fucking _hate_ this town," Nancy confesses, picking at her beer can's label. "Like. I used to have one good thing. My best friend in the entire world, Barbara, but she moved away. Thousands and thousands of miles. We still talk, of course, but. But school is so much more difficult without her. I have friends, sure, but it's all fake. Fucking everything is _fake._ My parents, fake. How they try to hide all their problems and act like we're some loving, nuclear family when my dad hasn't talked to my sister at all, unless he's yelling at her for shit all four-year old's do. My mom's good, she's, she's a good mom, but I look at her, and it's like. Staring into a future. I don't want to be trapped in some loveless marriage with my entire life revolving around my kids. That's—fuck, if that makes her happy, whatever, but I can't. _Be_ that person. You know? Happy all the time, hiding from everything real? And sometimes it all comes crashing down and I _hate_ being seventeen. It's a stupid age."

Shit. Jonathan whooshes out a breath, surprised at how easily she laid it all out there. It sounds like it's been building up for awhile, and his heart pangs for Nancy.

"But you're the dancing queen," Steve says.

Nancy laughs. "You're supposed to respond with something insightful, aren't you?"

"How 'bout...this town is stupid. But you're not chained to it. You're a genius. You belong wherever the fuck you want to be, and you'll find your smart, bad-ass friends."

"I already have smart, bad-ass friends, though."

Maybe under a different context of those words, he'd tease her for complimenting them. He doesn't, but he does smile at how genuine she sounds. "You're not your mom, either. I honestly believe that you get to be who you wanna be. My dad's a fucking dick, but—"

"The Chief?" Steve cuts in confusedly.

"No, he's not—I mean. He's my step-dad. He and my mom aren't married, but they're basically married. Before, my dad was in the picture, and fuck, he was awful. The worst person I've ever known. I'm nothing like him. You decide who you are. It's not decided for you."

"That was fucking poetic," Steve says.

Nancy nods in agreement, bringing her knees up to her chest. "Your turn, Jonathan."

He drums his fingers against his leg, trying to come up with something to say. He wants to bare his soul, because he likes that they're both comfortable enough to pour their soul out to him. But there isn't anything tugging at his heart, nothing he needs to get out.

Well.

Maybe there's something.

He stares at his knees, drawing in a sharp breath.

"Before I got this job, I didn't really have any friends. I mean, I had my family, but no one I found on my own. I'd worked since I was thirteen, haven't had the time or energy to be social. I stopped a couple months ago, but..it's kinda like everyone's found their people. Not room for anyone else. This summer's been different. I didn't...my life feels so fucking full right now. Like. Everything's so good right now. I don't think it's coincidental that everything's become so much brighter since I started being friends with you guys. So thanks."

They're both quiet.

Jonathan immediately regrets everything he's said, worried that he's overshared, that he's said something wrong—

"Dude," Steve says gently, "Jonathan _._ I—fuck, man. You're literally one of my best friends."

"Jonathan, I—"

"Nancy, are you crying?"

"Shut up, Steve's the one who's crying."

"I'm not crying.  _You're_ crying."

They're both crying.

* * *

"Fuck!"

"What?" Nancy asks, her eyebrows furrowing. She jumps off the counter, striding towards the door leading into the back.

Steve pushes past the doors. "We're basically out of everything."

"We can't be out of everything." Jonathan's wrong: they are.

"Hey, Nana," Steve says into his phone, "yeah, so, um, your store is like. Out of everything. Yeah. Oh. Sure. It's just—oh, wow, okay? Okay. Okay. You text them—I don't have their numbers _._ I can't Google them either. You're their boss, how do you not have their numbers? Okay. I love you, too. Bye."

"Cute," Nancy says, "what did she say?"

"We can close early."

They cheer and high-five each other, only to end up sitting on the floor five minutes later. They don't leave. The kids aren't here, and they're rarely ever by themselves in the store, so they take the opportunity.

Jonathan uses what's remaining of the ingredients to make them one cup of ice cream they pass around on the floor behind the counter. They're pressed together, Nancy nestled in between Steve and Jonathan.

"I think I'm actually getting sick of ice cream," Nancy says, passing the cup along to Steve. "I have so much of it here, and it's completely associated with work in my brain."

"Ice cream is so good, though. It's like. Godly."

"It's alright," Jonathan says indifferently.

"I don't know who either of you are."

"Drama queen," she teases.

"Pfft, I'm not a drama queen, 'm a ... undramatic queen."

Jonathan almost snorts. "You're extremely dramatic."

"You're both rude and ganging up on me."

He darts his gaze over to Nancy, who grins at him. "Yeah, I think we are."

Steve chuckles. "Wow, okay, my feelings are hurt. I don't think we can be friends anymore."

"You don't mean that." There's something off about Nancy's tone. Jonathan can't tell what it is. Something more deliberate, less teasing. 

"I do."

"No," Nancy says firmly, reaching out to tip Steve's chin up. "You don't." She kisses him, with certainty and determination, shutting her eyes. 

He squeaks against her mouth in surprise. She almost pulls away, but he kisses her back then, closing his eyes soon and easing into her. His hands find her waist and their bodies move together, perfectly in sync. They're itching to be close together, Nancy scrambling to lift herself up on his lap. His hands frame her face, her hands drifting off into his hair, and—

Jonathan wants to run, wants to leave, but he _can't._  Steve brought him to work today. The walk back is forty-five minutes. It's the same temperature as hell outside, too.

What the _fuck_ is he supposed to do? It's mind-numbingly hot, but he can't watch them make out. It'd be weird, and also a little torturous with all things considered.

Nancy pulls apart with a wet noise, faintly smiling. "Do you want to kiss Jonathan first or can I?" 

Jonathan stares stupidly at her, then at Steve, who’s equally bewildered. “What?” Steve says. 

Nancy’s eyes widen and she climbs off of his lap. “Shit, sorry, I should ask you first, not say it as if—wait. Why are you both staring at me like that?”

“Because of what you just said! You kissed him. You like him.”

“And I like you,” she says, and his heart somersaults in his chest. He doesn't think he's ever felt such a strong wave of utter joy before. “You both like each other. What? I thought it was common knowledge that we all liked each other. Am I wrong?"

Is she? Jonathan looks hopelessly at Steve, waits for something, anything. Quietly hopes this doesn’t ruin everything, either.

Steve meets his eyes and softly says, “No, you’re not.”

“You don’t have to say that if you—“

“Dude, shut up. I like you. She likes you.”

Steve’s hand reaches for his, then Nancy leans forward to put her hand on his waist. The lights above them flicker. Jonathan can hear his heart pound. He knows that this moment and the ones to follow are ones he’ll never forget.

He almost doesn't believe it. But their fingers on him are very real and he’s not imagining the space closing between them.

“Can I kiss one of you?”

“You can go first,” Steve says.

“No you can go.”

“ _You_ can go.”

“No, you—this is stupid," Nancy says, shaking her head. "I’m going to kiss you. Is that okay?”

Jonathan nods. They meet in the middle. Kiss slowly, tentatively. He’s stiff at first, but then she gently cups his face, thumb stroking his cheek. He melts into her and every nerve is gone. He doesn't know what he to do, but she doesn't seem to mind, tilting his head back. He thinks about how badly he's wanted to do this for weeks. How softly she's touching him. Then his mind can only think of the single iteration of her name, because she's holding him and he wants her to never let go.

But then a large hand presses against his back. He shivers as Steve’s hand sneaks underneath his shirt. It doesn’t wander any further, only touches his bare skin.

Nancy pulls away, pressing her forehead against his. “Was that okay?”

“Yes. Yes, yes,  _yes._ " 

Steve, almost shyly, asks, “My turn?”

Jonathan doesn’t reply; he braves the space between them instead. Steve’s mouth is warm and soft, like Nancy’s, but kissing him is different. Just as good, though. (Better than what he’d imagined it to be like. So. Much. Better.) Jonathan presses himself against Steve, nearly pulls away at Steve’s yelp, but then one of his arms extends around his neck to pull him closer. He's gentle in a way Jonathan never really expected, but he never expected any of this from Steve. Specifically how much he'd like him. 

And  _fuck,_ does he like him, especially with his tongue down his throat. 

He's not sure how to describe it. He's never been kissed before, so maybe it means nothing to say that they're both a hell of a kiss. But it is. Steve grins against his mouth, and Jonathan kinda wants to hear him make another noise, and Nancy's palming his thigh, and shit, if she'd go a little higher—

Jonathan breaks the kiss, darting his eyes between Nancy and Steve.

“Good?” He asks breathlessly.

They grin.

* * *

Jonathan doesn’t know where they go from here.

Their next shift is normal. Nothing different.

Steve invites them to his house and he expects a conversation or something, not for the second they sit on his bed for Nancy to ask, “do you guys wanna have sex?”

He’s not complaining.

But he still wonders.

When they’re sprawled out on Steve’s bed, sweaty and hot, he asks, “What is this?”

Nancy doesn’t miss a beat. “We all like each other, right?”

“Very much,” Steve says.

“I’d like to be your girlfriend.”

“Can I be your—“

“Yes, Steve. Jonathan?”

She strokes his hair gently, her arm extended from above Steve’s head.

“I wanna be your boyfriend. Both of your boyfriends.”

Steve kisses Nancy’s shoulder, then Jonathan’s cheek. “That’s settled. Can we cuddle now?” 

* * *

“This is … inappropriate for a workplace … ah—“

“You wan’ me to stop?”

“Fuck no.”

Steve laughs, biting another bruise onto Jonathan’s neck. Jonathan tries to shut up because the kids could hear and obscene moaning feels out of place for an ice cream store. He's  _trying_ to make something for the three of them to share, the cold Cheetos that have nitrogen escaping your mouth when you chew onto it, but he's distracted. 

 _Someone_ keeps distracting him.

“Aw, babe, we’re matching.” Nancy strolls up to them from the cash register, pushing her hair behind to reveal a bruise blooming above her collarbone. “Your neck is annoyingly lacking.”

“Nance, you’re too short to leave anything.”

“Bend down, then."

Steve laughs, squatting until he reaches eye-level to Nancy. "Well? What're you waiting for?"

"Nah, I shouldn't. I'd wanna fuck you, but we can't."

"You can kiss me?"

"I could," she agrees, then turns to Jonathan. He tries not to squeak as she presses him against the counter, grabs his face, and kisses him. Hard. She nips at the corner of his mouth, one of her hands gripping his thigh. It's like she's trying to kill him: it's working. 

It doesn't help when Steve crawls up to his other side. "Please do that to me next," he murmurs. 

Steve interrupts Jonathan's laugh by resuming his work. This—this is unfair. He curls his toes and he trembles in between them both. He also wonders. Wonders what on earth he did to deserve this. He quietly thanks himself in his past-life, who must’ve been an absolute saint for Jonathan to get this. 

It's not even the way they'll ruin him with matching grins. It's—fuck, it's  _everything._ Steve's constant stream of selfies on Snapchat. How Nancy steals his camera whenever he pulls it out to take dozens of pictures of him. How Steve'll hang off their laps whenever they're at his place. How Nancy does this little dance while making ice cream when she thinks no one's watching. 

It's all of those things, how he's lucky enough to  _see_ them firsthand. They're both fucking adorable, funny, sweet, and—

and Jonathan gets to be  _theirs._

"What the fuckare you guys doing!?" Mike hisses and they disentangle from each other in record-breaking time. 

Not fast enough to be anything but completely obvious.

Steve scratches the back of his neck, blushing. "Jonathan, had, um something on his neck."

"Yeah, your mouth." Dustin grins, fist pumping in the air triumphantly. "Holy shit, I won!"

Max slaps his arm. "Are you stupid, Nancy was  _literally_ kissing him. They're all screwing. _Jane_ wins."

Nancy scoffs, staunchly crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry, did you guys have a bet about us?"

"Yeah," Lucas answers. "We had two running bets, though, if Jonathan liked you or Steve. Then we had one on who'd get together first. I was gunning for you and Steve, but honestly, it was hard. You're all so in love, it's gross—"

Steve throws a washcloth in their general direction. "We're not gross, you are."

"You're all gross and hormonal, yes you are. Stop making out at  _work,_ " Lucas retorts, flinging the washcloth back. 

Jonathan senses an oncoming headache, because he knowsthey're going to start throwing things. Eh, whatever, Nancy will probably nearly wound someone before anything touches Jonathan. 

Will meanwhile grins, his eyes never leaving Jonathan. "So you're all dating each other then?" 

"Yeah," Jonathan says, "we are."

* * *

"No one should be home right now."

"Good, 'cause Nancy kept saying things throughout the entire shift, and—"

" _You_ started it."

"How?"

"You were looking really hot, and then you got even hotter when I'd say those things, so—what, I asked if you wanted me to stop."

"I didn't, obviously. But it was torture."

Jonathan finally gets his door open. "Is anyone home?" 

Silence.

"Bedroom, bedroom, bedroom," Nancy chants, grabbing their hands and dragging them off down into the house.

Jonathan snorts, because it's not like she knows where his room is.

Sometime later, he's comfortably laid out in between Nancy and Steve. Their entwined set of hands sit on his chest, Nancy's head on his shoulder, and Steve's chin on his head.  He's sweating and he probably smells like ass, but he's comfortable like this.

"This is definitely not what I thought my summer would look like," Nancy laughs into his neck.

"I thought you both hated me," Steve admits. His fingers card through Jonathan's hair and he croons quietly. 

"I didn't hate you, but...I don't know, I was kinda wary. You're too likeable."

"Clearly. I'm dating twice as many people as most, aren't I?"

"Actually, I take that back, you're not  _that_ likeable."

Jonathan lifts his head up to kiss his chin anyway.

Nancy hums thoughtfully. "I didn't hate you. I  _wanted_ to, because Jonathan's right. You're too easy to like. And too damn cute." She emphasizes by reaching over to pinch his cheeks.

"You are cute," Jonathan agrees. "Extremely cute. Nice smile, nice laugh, great ass—"

"Oh my God. You guys are actually complimenting me? Not, not making fun of me?"

Nancy kisses Steve's cheek. "I'll compliment you some more if you get me some water?"

"Hit me with one."

"You make everything a little better, always."

"You also make it impossible not to smile," Jonathan speaks up. "I mean. I don't really want water, but I wanted to say that."

Steve beams, briefly pecking Jonathan's lips, then Nancy's. "I'll be back." 

Jonathan's pretty certain that Nancy also stares at Steve's ass on his way out, which looks  _phenomenal_  in Jonathan's boxers. 

"You're also pretty fucking great." Nancy nuzzles his neck, interlacing their fingers. "Kind. Thoughtful. Your ass is pretty great, too."

Jonathan blushes. "You too. Smart and cool and brave. You're also a huge softie."

Nancy scoffs. "Am  _not._ "

"Are too! That time Mike tried skateboarding outside the store, fell onto the pavement, and you held ice to his head, made him his favourite ice cream?  _Or_ when you brought your sister over and kept hoisting her into the air as if she could fly? You're a total bad-ass, but underneath all that is a huge softie. A smart, thoughtful, softie."

"You take that back."

"What was that, softie?"

"You're pretty fucking soft, too."

Jonathan laughs. "Am not. I'm—I wear all black. I never smile."

"You're smiling right now," she points out, grazing her thumb across his cheek.

"Only 'cause I'm with you."

"You think you're so smooth..." She rolls her eyes fondly, turning his head so she can properly kiss him. 

Steve rushes inside in that exact moment, but neither pull away. Jonathan blindly reaches for him as their kiss deepens, only for Steve to smack it away.

He reluctantly parts from Nancy. "Ow, what the fuck?"

"Your dad," Steve whisper-shouts, kneeling on the bed in front of them. "Your dad! Saw me!"

"So?"

" _So?_ Jonathan, I'm—I'm shirtless. In  _boxers._ Boxers that are so clearly yours from how they don't fit me. That's not—that's not typically what two bros do for fun, man!"

Nancy places her hand on his arm, rubbing up and down. "Hey, hey, it's okay," she soothes, "what did he say?"

Steve leans into her touch, frowning. "Um. Nothing? He saw me. Froze. Said hi. Then walked away. Jonathan, if I just—fuck, if I just outed you, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"

"But he wasn't mad?" 

Steve shrugs. "I don't know. He always looks stoic and shit. I mean, it's a good thing that he didn't barge in here, right?"

Steve's probably right. But Jonathan can't sit here and not acknowledge the fact that he's so clearly sleeping with a boy and fuck it, he might as well come out with it, right? That he's seeing two people? Even if it's not going to extend past the end of the summer, summer's not over. They've still got three weeks of dates, of work, of each other.

"Steve, it's okay. I don't think he's, like, a close-minded prick. But I'm going to talk to him." 

Nancy touches his cheek. "I'm sure it'll be okay. We'll be here."

"It'll be okay, Jonathan," Steve says, kissing his forehead.

They're right. It will be.

Jonathan stands up, already missing the warmth from their contact. He marches to the door.

"Jonathan," Nancy calls out, "you should probably put a shirt on."

That's a good idea.

Jonathan is part-way through pulling the shirt over his head outside his room when Hopper stands in front of him, an eyebrow raised.

"Um. I'm using protection."

What? 

No!

Don't say that!

But Hopper only grins. "Okay," he says slowly, "your mother and I are happy to know that. Is he—are you dating that boy?"

He has nothing to be afraid of. "Yes," he says. "And, um, a girl. The three of us. In a relationship. With each other. They're both dating. As well."

Hopper has a brilliant poker face. "Okay," he repeats. "You're happy?"

"Extremely." 

"You swear you're being safe? 'Cause this is basically, twice as dangerous considering—"

He does not want to hear the end of that sentence. "We're being safe. I'll tell mom. Please don't tell her yet."

"I wouldn't," he promises. "You know you have nothing to worry about, right?"

"I do. And you're, you're cool with it _,_ right—"

"Jonathan," he interrupts, one of his hands dropping onto Jonathan's shoulder. He squeezes gently. "You're my son.  _My_ son. I'm cool."

Jonathan shakily smiles. He feels infinitely times lighter. "You're not cool, though. You're pretty lame."

"I'm ignoring that, kid. Tell your boy and girl I said hi. I gotta head back to the station, just needed to pick something up. See you for dinner."

"Definitely." Jonathan waits for him to leave, before spinning around and heading back into his bedroom.

Steve and Nancy grin at him. "He said you're his son," Steve gushes.

"Also,  _we're using protection?_ " Nancy teases.

Jonathan rolls his eyes, closing the door behind him. "Shut up." 

* * *

His mother takes it well.

Jonathan guessed as much, but he's still hit with relief when she hugs him for a long time.  

* * *

Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan aren't the only ones who're getting their acts together.

He can't believe how perfectly things align for his family, nor can he believe how perfectly everything falls into place.

It starts off with Mike and Will.

They're at Nancy's house. Her parents and younger sister aren't home, her dad at work, Holly on some play-date with one of her mom's friend's kid along with her mom. They don't pay much mind to Mike and Will's presence, the two elsewhere in the house.

"But I'm too cozy," Nancy argues. She buries her head further in Steve's chest. "And you're too warm. Blame your body for being the perfect furnace."

"But it's your house," Steve moans, "don't you have to be, like, a good hostess?"

Jonathan will die of dehydration if he lets this continue. "I'll get the damn soda." He slides off of Nancy's bed. 

"We'll pay you back in kisses," Nancy says, holding his hand until he's too far out of reach. 

"Here's an air-kiss." Steve blows him a kiss, and Jonathan pretends to catch it.

He grins all the way down to the basement, where the refreshments are. 

Except he doesn't find the drinks.

He finds his little brother with his tongue down Mike's throat.

"I'm so sorry. Fuck, let me just—yes, no, I'll go up—" He retreats before anyone can say anything, hopping up the stairs so quickly he's surprised he doesn't slip. 

He slams the door shut.

"Whoa, why are you mad at my door?"

"Where's the soda?"

He tries to think of something. He definitely doesn't want to say anything about Will and Mike, so what plausible excuse is there left? "Um," he says, crawling back onto Nancy's bed. "Soda's bad for you. It'll rot your insides."

Nancy wrinkles her nose. "Jonathan. I know that. Where's my soda?"

"I'm...scared of basements."

He gets way too much shit for that, and they don't let him forget it for the rest of the night. But it's worth it.

* * *

Max and Jane are up next.

They're more subtle.

Jonathan notices them coming in, with none of the other kids, during his shift in the middle of August. Hand-in-hand.

Nancy, Steve, and Jonathan all nudge each other, raising eyebrows and fighting back grins. 

"Should I be honoured that their first date is here?" Steve says, while Nancy dazedly murmurs, "they're so cute."

That night at dinner, Jonathan waits until Hopper and his mother have cleared the table and headed off to the living room to curl up together and watch television. He gives it a few seconds until he hears the television from the living room. 

The silence is palpable. He's not sure who to ask first.

"Anything...new in your lives?" 

Jane and Will look at each other. Innocently shrug.

"Really?" Jonathan presses further. 

"You know what's new. Why are we doing this?" Will asks.

"You saw me and Max earlier today."

"You saw me kissing Mike yesterday."

"You're caught up to speed, Jonathan."

Jonathan can't help but grin. "You two are in love," he teases, ruffling Will's hair, then Jane's. They're so tiny, so young, and that makes it all the more sweeter.

Jane flushes furiously. "So are you." 

"Wait—do our parents know?"

"No," Will says.

"And they won't. Will they, Jonathan?"

A thirteen year-old should not be as threatening as his younger sister. And yet here Jonathan is, gulping and profusely nodding.

* * *

The thing about summer is that when August starts, time really doesn't give a fuck. 

Because the next thing Jonathan knows is that it's the last week of August, school is next week, and he dreads returning. 

He  _likes_ his job. He likes the low-scaleness of it all, having the kids around all the time,  _Steve and Nancy._ He's so worried that the lightness, the ease in his chest all summer will be over as soon as the bell rings and the school year begins. Because everything's going to go back to how it was before, isn't it? Jonathan can't imagine this continuing past summer, past the ice cream shop. 

Their bubble will pop in t-minus one week. He's not ready.

On their last shift, Rose comes in. 

She stands in front of the cash register, cane tapping against the counter. "Steve? Can I acknowledge you as my grandson now?" 

"C'mon, you know I've never been embarrassed of you, you're the coolest grandma around town."

"I know." She grins. 

Nancy and Jonathan stop what they're doing, him cleaning the back, her organizing their ingredients. They stand on either sides of Steve.

"Hi, Rose," Nancy chirps, Jonathan settling on a wave.

Rose smiles. "I just wanted to come in and say thanks for everything you've done. And, obviously, to meet the two people who own my grandson's heart."

"Own your grandson's heart?" Jonathan repeats, taking great satisfaction and joy in the way Steve reddens. 

"Did you say that? That we  _own_ your heart?" Nancy continues. 

Steve groans. "You didn't have to tell them that. They're both annoying. And cocky."

"So, like you?"

She hugs all three of them and kisses Steve's cheek. "If you want a job next summer, it's yours. It's been a pleasure."

It really has, Jonathan thinks. Fuck. He's going to miss this stupid, stupid store.

* * *

He sees them plenty of times the rest of the week. On Labour Day, Steve invites them over.

He spreads a blanket out on the ground and they lay together. The sun hasn't quite set yet, so it doesn't have the romantic air of stargazing, but Jonathan thinks that anything with them is romantic. His heart would probably combust if he went grocery shopping with them, because he's got it bad. 

"One more year 'till we're done with everything," Nancy says. "I can't wait to get out of this town."

"Where do you want to go?" Steve asks. 

"Literally anywhere. Columbia's a pretty good law school."

Jonathan nearly chokes on his spit. "I've always wanted to go to NYU." First it was a far-away dream, then it took the form of a goal. 

"Really?" Nancy grins. "Interesting."

"New York's pretty," Steve says casually. 

Nancy kisses his neck and snuggles further into his side. 

There's something unspoken there. Discussing things like that is ridiculously early with the three of them who've only really known each other for two months, but if it continues in the school year—

Jonathan should probably ask. He's been anxious all week. They've taken notice, but he insists he's fine. He is. Mostly. 

"Hey, guys," Jonathan's voice cracks.

Their heads snap towards him. 

"Something wrong?" Steve's voice drips with worry. 

Nancy reaches out to touch his hand. "Jonathan, what is it?"

"Are we. I mean. Does this end here?"

Steve turns his head towards Jonathan, his arm shooting out to touch his arm. "Are you kidding? No! No, no, of course not, I don't—do you want it to?"

"No, what? No, of course not, I just...I figured that..." Shit, this sounds pathetic, and sad, and—

"Jonathan." Nancy's voice is both firm and gentle, covering him with a blanket of safety and warmth. "I really, really like you and Steve. This is not some stupid, summer fling. You're not getting rid of us."

His throat dries up and his heart is full and he really, really thinks that this could work. That it will work. That they're not leaving anytime soon. 

"Okay," he manages out. But that's not enough. They probably don't understand how much it means to him, their reassurance, but he wants them to. "You guys make me really happy."

Steve kisses his cheek and Nancy spreads her arm around Steve to wrap it around Jonathan's shoulder.

"You make us happy, too," Steve murmurs.

Nancy hums in agreement.

"My, uh, my mom wants to have dinner with you both," he says, and their excitement, grins and earnest  _yes, yes, yes_ 's, means everything to him. 

They sit out like that, curled up together, watching the sun quiet. Telling jokes and fondly recalling all the wild tales from their eventful two months. Jonathan aches for his camera, but he doesn't want to leave this position, doesn't want to move a damn muscle. Because entwined with Steve and Nancy like this, listening to their laughter, is where he wants to be most. He has tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after  _that_ to take as many pictures as he wants.

Their summer is basically over, but  _this_ isn't. 

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to include henderclair but like. i got tired. and i also wanted to include that dinner but with everyone but then i thought???? that would be too long and like??? high-key deserves a one-shot. and i didn't want to include the ship if it only got a few mentions!! 
> 
> the other summer au was so fluffy and warm and like. y'all. that was so SOFT. and our kids deserve another soft love story so let me just. THROW this at you.
> 
> also i am. going to sri lanka soon!! for a month!! it's a lil island in South Asia that is where my parents are from and i'm excited!! but wait there is relevance here, so i'm going to have a lot of random, free time on my hands and like??? if y'all have any prompts??? or something??? that'd be great!!!
> 
> kudos/comments are appreciated!! thanks for reading + i hope you have a lovely day. :)


End file.
